


No Resting Place

by domesticadventures



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Communication, First Kiss, Human Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Miscommunication, POV Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-08 15:18:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15246171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/domesticadventures/pseuds/domesticadventures
Summary: He stands to grab plates from the kitchen, but Dean catches him by a belt loop as he goes by, pulls him in and kisses him. When he pulls away, he says, softly, “Hey.”Cas huffs a laugh. “Hey.”Dean kisses him again before he steps away, grinning as he grabs a couple beers from the fridge. Cas watches him as he pulls the plates from the cabinet. “How did we get here?”“Well,” Dean says, “you wanted to take the day off to spend time together, and I was an ass about it, and–”“No,” Cas says, “I mean here.” He gestures between them, gestures to the apartment. “All of this.”





	No Resting Place

**Author's Note:**

> here's my contribution to the spn canon bang for 2018. i had a great time working with [TdotBabs](https://tdotbabs.deviantart.com/gallery/), whose art you can find embedded in the fic! and, of course, a shoutout to [kora](http://deathbanjo.tumblr.com/) for helping me beat this fic into shape.

The morning sun shines through the blinds, casting Dean’s face in alternating bars of light and shadow.

Cas watches him as he sleeps, his face inches from Dean’s own. Tentatively, he reaches out to touch him, fingertips brushing against Dean’s eyebrow, the side of his face, down along his jaw.

Dean breathes a soft laugh as he wakes. “Hey,” he says, reaching up to swat at Cas’ hand without opening his eyes. “That tickles.”

“Sorry,” Cas murmurs. He starts to pull his hand away, but Dean catches it with his own. When Cas looks back, Dean meets his gaze. He’s smiling.

“Don’t be sorry,” Dean says. He rests their hands on the bed between them, strokes his thumb across Cas’ knuckles. “Felt nice.”

And then he shifts, slides closer, presses a kiss to the corner of Cas’ mouth so casually that it takes his breath away. He inhales sharply, clenching his hand against the sheets.

Dean doesn’t let go of Cas’ hand, but he pulls back, brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

Cas swallows against the lump in his throat. “It’s nothing,” he says, smiling.

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” Cas says, and leans back in.

\--

“Oh, thank God,” Sam breathes.

Cas groans as he blinks awake, struggles to get his bearings, to process anything beyond the cold and pain and exhaustion.

“Cas,” Dean says, and between one slow blink and the next, Dean has moved from pacing across the room to sitting next to Cas on the bare mattress, a hand on his knee, on his arm.

For a moment, he swears he can feel sunlight on the back of his head, soft sheets against his skin, Dean’s face pressed against his own. He forces himself to turn his head, to look at the filthy bed, the blood on the sheets and the floor and the walls, the dust floating in the air, and he tries to forget what it feels like to wake up warm and safe and at home. He chokes out a sound somewhere between a sigh and a sob.

“Hey,” Dean says. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re gonna be all right.”

Cas squeezes his eyes shut, clenches his jaw, nods.

Together, Dean and Sam help him sit up. They sling his arms around their shoulders and carry him to the car, lay him down in the back seat.

The last thing Cas sees before he dozes off is Dean, watching him in the rear view mirror, street lamps making his face shift between light and dark as he drives.

\--

The pipes rattle in the walls as Dean showers. The sound keeps Cas company as he gets up, pads softly around the apartment.

The bed takes up most of their room, leaving only a narrow path along its edges. A large wooden dresser occupies the wall under the window, and the remainder are covered with pictures -- not just of Dean and Cas, but also of Sam, of Eileen, of Mary. 

And then Cas takes another look, and he notices the way the bed is positioned to cover a large stain on the carpet, the way a crack in the drywall peeks out from behind one side of the dresser, the way the pictures draw attention away from the paint peeling in the corners.

The floor creaks as Cas walks down the hallway and stops to open the door he finds set into one wall. It’s largely occupied by spare pillows and blankets and sheets, but at the very bottom, tucked underneath the bottom shelf, is a familiar duffle bag, packed and ready to go if duty calls.

He makes his way to the living room, a tiny space that doesn’t look nearly as tiny as it is -- a trick of the large mirror on one wall, the open blinds that have been left open enough to let light stream in, the carefully chosen colors -- pastel blue couch, pale wood coffee table, glass TV stand. Cas pulls up the corner of the couch cover and laughs at the ugly, faded floral pattern under it. He drops it back down and takes a seat, surprised to find it soft and comfortable; he stands back up before he can get _too_ comfortable and fall back asleep.

Cas explores the kitchen last. He runs his fingertips over the laminate that’s peeling a little at the edges, looks inside the ancient-looking fridge, rummages around in the drawers filled with a colorful assortment of silverware, pots and pans, knock-off Tupperware. Everything is spotlessly clean, down to the curling linoleum floor.

Every room feels warm and lived in and like it’s all falling apart just a little, and Cas can’t help but think it’s as if the entire apartment is gritting its teeth and saying, “I’m fine.”

Cas has just made his way back into the bedroom when the bathroom door opens. All the warning he gets is a quick “Hey,” and then Dean has him pressed against the wall, has his lips against Cas’. For a moment, Cas forgets the apartment, forgets where he is entirely, forgets everything in favor of focusing on Dean, on the way his hair is still damp and his skin is still warm from the shower, on the minty taste of his mouth.

Dean gets a leg between Cas’ thighs and sneaks his hands up under Cas’ shirt, runs his fingers across Cas’ stomach, smiles against Cas’ mouth when he gasps.

Cas reaches his arms around Dean, struggling to take even breaths around the sudden tightness in his chest. He digs his fingers into Dean’s skin, presses his face against Dean’s neck and manages to mumble, “I thought you said you had to get ready for work.”

Dean sighs, breath tickling the hairs at the back of Cas’ neck. “Yeah, yeah,” he says, pressing one last kiss to Cas’ jaw as he pulls away. “C’mon, I’ll make us breakfast.”

\--

“Let’s go back to bed,” Cas mumbles blearily as Dean shakes him awake.

“Sorry, kiddo, wouldn’t want to miss the first day of school,” Dean says. He laughs when Cas cracks open one eye to glare at him. “C’mon, you don’t wanna sleep in here.”

Cas sighs, but he lets Dean pull him from the car, lets Dean sling his arm around his shoulder and drag him into the motel room while Sam digs around in the trunk.

Dean sets him on the toilet seat in the dim light of the bathroom. He steadies Cas as he sways, holding him upright and guiding his limbs so he can pull off his jacket, his flannel. Dean grazes his fingers against Cas’ stomach as he removes his t-shirt and Cas’ breath hitches.

Dean stops with the shirt pulled halfway up Cas’ chest, frowning down at him. “Am I hurting you?” he asks quietly.

Cas swallows, shakes his head.

“Okay,” Dean says, but when he resumes, he moves more slowly than before, handles Cas even more gently.

Sam appears as Dean kneels down to unlace Cas’ boots, balancing their makeshift first aid kit on the sink. “Hey,” he says, half unwrapping a Snickers and pressing it into Cas’ hand.

“Thank you,” he manages, closing his eyes and chewing slowly. He tries to ignore the feel of Dean’s hands against his skin as he pulls off his boots and socks, focuses instead on the sticky sweet candy, the chocolate melting against his fingertips, the peanuts getting stuck in his teeth. He’s not even half done by the time Dean maneuvers him to undo his jeans and slip them down over his legs.

“Hey,” Dean says, once Cas is stripped down to his boxers, “think you can manage to stand long enough to shower?”

Even if he weren’t dead tired, he remembers the shower here -- he’d looked at it when they checked in, when he still felt stiff and sweaty from too many hours on the road, looked at the cracked tiles and dirty grout and the sad, sputtering trickle of water that had come out when he turned the faucet on, and decided he could wait. He shakes his head without opening his eyes.

“All right,” Dean says, and Cas looks now, watches him stand and wash his hands.

He manages to finish the Snickers as Dean is drying himself off. As soon as he’s done chewing, Sam takes the empty wrapper, says, “Here,” and hands him a bottle of water, already uncapped. He takes a long drink as Dean wets a washcloth, rubs some soap into it.

Dean is exceedingly gentle, but Cas still hisses as he presses the washcloth against his neck.

“Sorry,” Dean says, frowning.

“What happened to using alcohol?” Cas grumbles.

“Hey, you’re the one who told us we should step up our first aid game,” Dean says.

“Who said anything about pouring it on the wound?”

Sam snorts as he digs through the first aid kid, and Dean finally cracks a bit of a grin. “Drink your damn water,” he says.

Cas busies himself with sipping at his drink as Dean cleans the wounds on his neck. He looks away from Dean, watches instead as Sam gathers his clothes into a pile in the corner, as he prepares another washcloth and hands it to Dean in exchange for the now blood- and dirt-stained one. Sam tosses the ruined washcloth onto the pile as Dean rubs at the raw skin around Cas’ wrists and ankles.

Next comes the antibiotic cream over everything, then gauze wrapped around the rope burns, Sam passing everything to Dean as he needs it. Dean tapes a final piece of gauze against Cas’ neck, then pulls his hands away and stands.

Cas breathes a sigh of relief as he pushes himself up off the toilet, supporting himself with one hand against the wall.

“Do you--” Dean starts, reaching out.

“I’m fine,” Cas says. Dean pulls his hands back, holds them up palms-out as he lets Cas make his own way to the bed. Cas takes a few stumbling steps and practically collapses onto it, too tired to care that the mattress is somehow both stiff and also sagging in the middle or that the sheets are thin and scratchy and smell like the clothes they get from Goodwill before they wash them, that undeniable scent of Someone Else on them, telling him this isn’t his, he isn’t home.

“Nailed it,” Dean says.

“Shut up,” Cas says to the pillow.

Dean just laughs. As he shifts the covers out from under Cas and pulls them back up over him, Cas mumbles his thanks.

By the time Dean and Sam are starting their game of rock paper scissors to see who has to take the couch, he’s drifting.

\--

Dean moves quickly around the kitchen, his motions practiced, routine. Cas watches, fascinated, from where he’s perched on a stool on the other side of the counter, out of the way.

“The usual?” Dean asks.

“Sure,” Cas says.

“The usual” turns out to be an omelet filled with onions and peppers and smothered with cheese. He’s halfway through it, Dean seated next to him with his mouth full of food, when Dean pauses. He glances at the clock, then back to Cas, still in his pajamas. “Don’t you have to go in today?” he asks, frowning.

When Cas shakes his head, Dean’s frown deepens. He finishes chewing as he gets up to look at the calendar stuck to the fridge. “Uh, yeah, dude, you do,” he says. “You’re supposed to be at work”--he looks at the clock again--“twenty minutes ago.”

Cas swallows audibly as he looks down at his food. “Can’t we just stay home?”

Dean stares at him, silent. He says, “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” Cas says, looking up to meet Dean’s confused stare. “You could tell your boss you’re sick, or--”

In an instant, Dean’s expression shifts from confused to frustrated. “We’ve been over this, Cas, it doesn’t work like that, okay?” He drags his hand down over his face. “We’ve got bills to pay, we can’t just skip out whenever we feel like it.”

“I know,” Cas says. “But. Just today.”

“Unbelievable,” Dean says. “You were the one who wanted to try this domestic bullshit, and now you wanna just, what? Tap out for a day? Well, some of us would like to keep a roof over our heads, so.”

“Dean,” Cas says. “Please.”

“I gotta go to work,” Dean says. “So do you.”

Cas stares down at his plate, eyes stinging, as Dean throws on his jacket,grabs his keys and wallet, and slams the door closed behind himself as he leaves.

As soon as he’s gone, Cas gets up and calmly scrapes their half-finished breakfast into the trash.

\--

Sam and Dean pause in the middle of their conversation as Cas steps into the kitchen, looking up at him as he makes his way to the table.

“Hey, you look less like death warmed over today,” Dean says, grinning.

“Dean,” Sam chastises, but Dean just chuckles as he gets up and wanders over to the cabinets. “Good to be back in your own bed?” Sam asks as Cas takes a seat.

He spent the night tossing and turning, waking up reaching for someone who wasn’t there. He swallows around the sudden lump in his throat, manages a smile, a nod.

Dean returns and slides a mug of coffee across the table to him. “Here, drink up.”

“Thank you,” Cas says.

Dean nods. “You’re gonna need a lot of that for a few days,” he says. “Man, I remember when I got caught by one of those bastards, I was exhausted for a full week after.”

“Blood loss tends to do that to you,” Sam says. “And for what it’s worth, caffeine isn’t really a great idea after--”

“Yeah, thanks, doctor,” Dean says, rolling his eyes. “How about breakfast, is breakfast allowed?”

Sam sighs, ignoring Dean as he makes his way to the fridge. “So, I was thinking,” Sam says, turning to Cas, “I get if you’re not up for it, but if you’ve got the energy, Donna is working a case and could use our help with some research.”

“What kind of case?” Cas asks, sipping his coffee.

“Well,” Sam starts, and then he’s off, relaying everything Donna has learned so far as Dean cooks.

They’re in the middle of debating which obscure local cryptid they think Donna may be dealing with when Dean returns to the table and, with a flourish, sets two plates of omelettes down in front of them.

Cas’ stomach flips. By the time Dean has come back with his own plate, he still hasn’t picked up his fork.

“You don’t have to wait for me,” Dean says, eyebrow raised as he takes a seat.

“Sorry,” Cas says. “I, um...I guess I’m not hungry.”

Dean frowns. “Okay, well, I hate to admit it, but Sam is actually right. You do need to eat something at some point.”

“I will,” Cas says. He taps the side of his mug. “But this is fine for now.”

“Suit yourself,” Dean says, and digs into his food.

Afterwards, once Sam has put his dirty dishes in the sink and wandered off, Dean clears his throat. “Hey, you know,” he says, “if you wanna talk about it, uh. I know those dreams can fuck you up, you know? Mine gave me lots of stuff I wanted, made it hard to leave.” He shrugs. “Was yours something like that?”

“Yeah,” Cas says, looking down into the dregs of his coffee. “Something like that.”

“You wanna expand on that?” Dean asks.

“Not really.”

“All right,” Dean says lightly. “Suit yourself.”

He gets up to do the dishes, trying at first to make small talk with Cas as he works -- how’s he feeling, does he need more coffee, is there anything else he feels like eating -- but eventually he gets tired of Cas’ one-word answers and gives up.

Cas can feel Dean watching him as he dries his hands, so he closes his eyes and holds onto his mug.

“Well, uh...” Dean says, finally, once he’s run out of excuses to stay in the kitchen. “If you need anything, just let me know.”

“I’m fine,” Cas says, and sits in silence as Dean leaves.

\--

Cas has a message history with Sam that goes back months and months, everything from a picture of an ancient text Sam asked for his help translating to selfies of Sam and Eileen to messages sent asking for advice or just checking in.

Cas reads back until he hits the point where the older messages have been automatically deleted, and then he hits call.

Sam picks up on the third ring. “Hey, Cas,” he says. “Everything okay?”

Cas opens his mouth to say, _Yes, everything’s fine,_ but he gets caught on it, closes his mouth with a sigh. He says, “I don’t know.”

“What happened?” Sam asks, more urgently.

“Dean stormed out,” Cas says. “He was...upset. I wanted to stay home today, and he, um. Disagreed.”

Sam makes a sympathetic noise. “One of those days, huh?”

“Yeah,” Cas says. “I suppose so.”

“He’ll come around,” Sam says. “He always does. Just give him some time.”

“How long?” Cas asks, and Sam laughs, not unkindly.

“You know him,” Sam says. “Won’t take long for him to realize he’s being an idiot.”

“All right,” Cas says. Then, “How are you and Eileen?”

Cas can feel Sam perk up over the phone. “Real good, man, thanks,” he says. “She says my ASL is coming along well, too.” Laughing, he adds, “She says another ten years or so and I’ll practically be a natural.”

A smile tugs at the corner of Cas’ mouth. “That’s great, Sam. I’m glad.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Sam says. “I know things are hard sometimes. But we really lucked out, huh?”

“Yeah,” Cas says. “We did.”

\--

Dean brings Cas whatever he needs, whether he asks for it or not. He brings him glass after glass of water, brings him ibuprofen, brings fresh bandages for his wrists, and every time, Cas takes the items without argument and returns to whatever he was doing.

Dean wanders into the library while Cas is reading. “Hey,” he says. “I figured you guys could use some coffee.” He scans the room before he sets one mug next to Sam’s abandoned notes and offers the other to Cas.

He cradles it in his hands, takes a sip. “Thank you,” he says, down into the mug.

Dean shifts back, sticks his thumbs into his pockets. “Dude, okay, seriously,” he says, “what gives?”

Cas sets the coffee aside and turns the page of his book. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been acting weird for days,” Dean says. “You can’t even look me in the eye. What’s going on?”

Cas looks up, meets his gaze and holds it.

Dean rolls his eyes, scoffs. “I’m being serious, here.”

Cas shrugs. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I just want you to tell me what the fuck is going on with you,” Dean says, throwing his hands up.

“Well,” Cas says. “Since you asked so nicely.”

“I have asked nicely, Cas,” Dean says. “And I’m not-- I’m--”

“Getting angry because I’m not giving the answer you want?” Cas says. “When you asked so nicely?”

“Dammit, Cas, I’m not trying to pry, okay?” Dean says. “And I’m not angry, I’m just--”

“Just worried,” Cas says, voice rising. “Yeah, I know.”

“If you know, then why are you being such a dick about it?”

“Because that’s always your excuse when you’re being an asshole, Dean, and it’s getting old!”

Dean stands with his mouth agape, shuts it with an audible click. “You know what,” he says, “fine. I give up. Excuse me for giving a shit, I’ll try to do better next time.”

He spins on his heel and leaves, and Cas doesn’t watch him go.

“So, uh,” Sam says, stepping out from behind one of the back shelves.

Cas turns another page he hasn’t read. “Did you find the book you were looking for?” he asks.

“Um. Yeah,” Sam says. He’s quiet as he sits back down and lays his book on the table. He fiddles with the cover as he says, “You know, no pressure, but you can talk to me if you don’t want to talk to Dean.”

“I know,” Cas says. He looks down at his book, tries to read the same sentence three times. He says, quietly, “We were together.”

Sam asks, “Like, _together_ together?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh,” Sam says. “I--” He exhales, runs a hand through his hair. “I keep wanting to say sorry, but I think that’s just ‘cause I don’t know what to say. So, uh. Sorry.”

Cas huffs a humorless laugh. “It’s fine,” he says. “I don’t know what to say, either.”

Sam looks at him, considering, and then he says, carefully, “You could try telling him.” At Cas’ sharp glance, he adds, “I’m not trying to tell you what to do. Just...he might surprise you.”

“Or he might just shout at me.”

“Yeah,” Sam says. “I guess you can’t rule that out.”

“He shouted at me in the dream, too,” Cas says. “We were fighting.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He runs a finger along the table top, back and forth.

“How’d that work out?” Sam asks.

Cas pauses. “Actually,” he says, “better than I expected.”

\--

Dean opens the door with one hand and carefully maneuvers a couple pizza boxes in with the other. He catches Cas watching him from the sofa and says, “Uh. Hey.”

“Hey,” Cas says.

Dean sets down his keys, slides the pizza onto the counter, closes the door. He runs a hand over the back of his head and says, “Look, I’m sorry.” Before Cas can add anything, he continues, “I’m not mad. I just worry, you know? I’m not used to this-- this--” he gestures at the apartment-- “to all of this. To having a steady job and bills to pay and somebody to come home to every day that’s not my brother.” He laughs nervously.

“I’m sorry, too,” Cas says.

Dean looks up. “Yeah? What for?”

“For making you worry.”

“No, no,” Dean says, “it’s-- you don’t gotta apologize for having an off day, Cas. And you were right, taking one day off isn’t gonna make or break things.” He clears his throat. “Anyway, I was thinking maybe pizza and a movie?”

Cas smiles at him. He says, “That sounds great.”

He stands to grab plates from the kitchen, but Dean catches him by a belt loop as he goes by, pulls him in and kisses him. When he pulls away, he says, softly, “Hey.”

Cas huffs a laugh. “Hey.”

Dean kisses him again before he steps away, grinning as he grabs a couple beers from the fridge. Cas watches him as he pulls the plates from the cabinet. “How did we get here?”

“Well,” Dean says, “you wanted to take the day off to spend time together, and I was an ass about it, and--”

“No,” Cas says, “I mean here.” He gestures between them, gestures to the apartment. “All of this.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “What, did you forget how we wound up together?”

“No, of course not,” Cas says. “But I like hearing it from you.”

Dean shrugs. “Well, when you decided to go human full time, having you around 24/7 was pretty much driving me crazy since I was too much of a coward to make the first move. So, y’know.” He smiles at Cas across the counter. “I’m real glad you did.”

Cas smiles back at him. He says, “Me, too.”

Dean grins wider. “C’mon,” he says. “Pizza’s gonna get cold.”

\--

Cas opens the door at Dean’s knock, shuffling back so he can come in.

“Listen,” Dean says, hovering near the doorway, picking at a splinter on the frame. “I’m sorry. You know I’m not trying to be an asshole, right?”

Cas shifts on his feet. “I know,” he says. “I’m not trying to be, either, it’s just…”

“Just what?”

He shrinks back under Dean’s careful gaze as he tries to find the right words -- as he struggles to articulate exactly how it feels to wake from a world in which nearly a decade of longing has been suddenly, wondrously resolved. “Nothing,” Cas says. “Forget it.”

Dean sighs, but his voice is gentle as he says, “Look, you don’t owe me an explanation, all right? I just wanna know what’s going on, if there’s something I did that--”

“We were together,” Cas interrupts, heart racing.

Dean goes still. “What?”

“In my dream,” Cas says. “We were together. We-- we had an apartment, and jobs, and a life outside of-- of this, outside of hunting. Sam, too, with Eileen. And there was-- it wasn’t perfect. Our place was kind of falling apart, and you were worried about the bills, and we argued. But it was good, too.” A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he remembers.

“Oh,” Dean says.

“I’m sorry,” Cas says, smile fading. “I knew things were going to be awkward whether I told you or not. I thought I was choosing the better of the two options.”

“Why would it be awkward?” Dean asks. He sounds casual enough, but when Cas looks up, there’s a flush spreading across his cheeks.

“I-- it was wishful thinking on my part. I know you don’t--” He sighs, scratches at the back of his neck. “Even in my dream, I-- you told me you never would have made the first move, that you were too much of a coward. That it was me who forced the issue. And I don’t want you to think that this-- that this has to change anything--”

Dean drops his hand from the frame, expression darkening. “Is that really what you think of me?”

“What?” Cas starts to ask, but before he can even get that one word out, Dean crowds up into his space, grabs him by his arms and kisses him hard.

And then all at once he lets go, pulls back, steps away. “I’m not a coward,” Dean says.

For a second, Cas watches Dean turn away, back towards the door. When he finds his voice, he says, “You’re running away right now.”

Dean scoffs. “You’re one to talk.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Cas asks.

Dean whirls back around. “The thing about those dreams?” he says, pointing a finger at Cas. “The djinn gets the ideas from you. They say a hell of a lot more about the dreamer than anyone else. So. I’m not a coward. Glad to know you think I am, though.”

“Dean,” Cas says, “that’s not--”

“You’re a fucking hypocrite, anyway,” Dean says, “because it’s not like you’ve actually done anything, either.”

Cas opens his mouth, closes it again. Tries to reconcile the implication in Dean’s words with his harsh tone, with his tense posture. Finally, he manages, “What?”

“You heard me.” Dean crosses his arms, stares Cas down.

“I just-- I was worried you--” Cas stops, sighs. “I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean says. “That’s always your excuse.”

Just as Dean starts to turn away again, Cas says, “So what’s yours?” Dean stops halfway. “What’s your excuse?”

Dean stands, tense and silent, and Cas wonders if he’ll bother to respond at all. Back turned, Dean exhales slowly. He says, quietly, “I’ve watched you die, all right? More than once. And I can’t do that again, Cas. I just can’t. I can’t worry about that all the time, it would be paralyzing.”

Cas scoffs. “I’m glad to know you think so little of me,” he says. “I may not be an angel anymore, but that doesn’t mean that I-- that I’m fragile, or that I need your constant protection.”

Dean spins back around, face red. “That’s not--”

“I’m not going to fall apart so easily, Dean.”

“You got attacked by a fucking djinn, Cas!”

“It was fine!” Cas says. “You said you were in your dream for days and I wasn’t even in mine for one. You had plenty of time. I was fine.” At Dean’s puzzled look, he snaps, “What?”

“What do you remember about it?” Dean asks carefully. “After you woke up?”

Cas sighs. “I don’t know. I was tired? Everything was filthy. You had already found me and untied me before I woke up.”

“And the djinn? You remember him?”

“I remember the blue light before I was dreaming.”

“And after?”

Cas hesitates. “He was already gone when I woke. You and Sam took care of him.”

Dean laughs, sharp and humorless. “Yeah, about that,” he says. “Let me fill you in: We found him with his teeth in you. You didn’t have days, Cas, you didn’t even have hours. You would have been dead in minutes. We had to--” he takes a deep breath, scrubs a hand over his face-- “we had to fucking pull him off you, Cas. And then you wouldn’t wake up, and I thought-- Christ, I dunno.”

“You thought what?”

“I thought, what if whatever you were dreaming about was better than this shit you have to deal with with us day after day, you know?” Dean says, looking at the ground. “And now you tell me about us being together, and I just-- I can’t live up to whoever I was in your dream, all right? I’m never going to be able to live that apple pie life.”

“Dean--”

“You know what, you were right,” Dean says. “Can’t we just forget this whole thing happened?” He looks up at Cas, pleading.

Cas swallows. “I don’t want to forget.”

“You don’t want to forget what it was like being stuck with some fake version of me in some fake life,” Dean says flatly.

“I don’t want to forget what it was like to be happy!”

Dean recoils, takes a half step back. “So it’s true, then,” he says, dropping his arms so they hang limply at his sides. “You’d rather be there, with that fake version of me, the one who’s a coward, than here--”

“That’s not what I said.”

“No, it’s fine,” Dean says. “Really. I get it. I mean, you could have just told me how unhappy you were here. You don’t have to stick around just for my sake.”

“I came back!”

Dean snorts derisively. “Yeah, and it’s been just a delight, right, just a whole bunch of fun. You really put my mind at ease. Thanks for that.”

“Get out of my room,” Cas says flatly, and without another word, Dean does.

\--

There’s something grazing gently across Cas’ stomach, under his shirt, and he can’t help but laugh as he wakes with his head in Dean’s lap.

“That tickles,” he says breathlessly, swatting at Dean’s hand, which of course just encourages Dean to reach over with his other hand and tickle him more. Cas groans and squirms away and winds up rolling right off the couch and onto the floor.

He fights a smile enough to scowl up at Dean, who’s leaning over him, laughing as he says, “Oh shit, sorry.”

“I doubt it,” Cas says.

Dean grins wider as he gets up and offers Cas a hand. He pulls Cas up, gives him a quick kiss, keeps on holding his hand as he leads him to the bedroom.

They make it all the way through stripping down to their boxers, getting ready for bed, crawling under the covers, before Cas remembers he’s dreaming.

\--

Cas wakes with his face stuck to a page with drool. He jerks upright, a blanket slipping from his shoulders as he drags the back of his hand across his face.

Beside him, Dean hits pause on whatever he was watching, taking off his headphones and closing his laptop.

“Hey,” Dean says.

“Hey.”

“So, uh,” Dean says. He looks at Cas for a long moment, corner of his mouth twitching with the effort of, undoubtedly, fighting his desire to tease Cas about his unceremonious return to consciousness. Instead, his expression ultimately settles to something more neutral, mouth a flat line and eyes fixed on the table as he says, “You were right. I’m a coward. I’m sorry.”

Cas rubs the sleep from one eye, shaking his head. “That was unfair of me.”

Dean shrugs.

“It was,” Cas insists. “And I’m sorry, too.”

Dean frowns at him. “What have you got to be sorry for?”

“I’ve watched you die, too,” Cas says. “When I was-- when Naomi--” He sighs. “She made me kill you, Dean. Over and over until I could do it without hesitating.”

“Jesus, Cas,” Dean says.

“I thought the Mark was going to kill you, too. And after Amara, I thought you were gone for good.” He looks down at the table, rubs the tips of his fingers against the grain. “It scares me, too. The thought of you dying. Of the things I’d do to keep that from happening again. I get it.”

Dean looks over at him, runs his hands back through his hair before resting them at the back of his neck. He sighs. “What a pair we make, huh?”

“Mmm.”

Dean crosses his arms. He says, “So what now?”

“What do you mean?”

Dean shrugs. “I dunno. Where do we go from here?”

“You tell me,” Cas says.

“It’s just...” Dean says. “While we’re being honest, it’s not just the dying. It’s all of it, you know? I don’t know how to do any of this, man. There are so many things that could go wrong. It’s the same shit you were worried about, right? I don’t want to fuck this up and have things change between us.”

“Hmm,” Cas says. “Would they really, though?” At Dean’s questioning look, he says, “We already live together, Dean. We work together, we fight together, we worry about one another. How much different would it be if, at the end of the day, we went back to the same room instead of to our own separate ones?”

Dean opens his mouth. Closes it. Looks down at the table as he rubs his thumb idly against the edge.

“I’m sorry,” Cas says. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t,” Dean says. “It’s just that I’m trying to think of a counterargument, I guess.”

“Why?”

Dean chuckles, scratches at the back of his neck with his other hand. “Because talking myself out of things I want is what I do? Guess it’s easier to just go along with the status quo than risk fucking everything up by asking for something for myself.”

“That’s remarkably self aware of you,” Cas says dryly.

Dean kicks at Cas’ foot. “Hey, it’s not that I’m not self aware, all right? It’s just that self awareness is freaking uncomfortable.”

“So I did make you uncomfortable.”

“You ass,” Dean says, fighting a grin. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” Cas admits, smirking.

Dean’s smile slowly fades as they sit in silence. He turns away to resume staring down at the table. Finally, hesitantly, he says, “You really think you could be happy with this?”

“Did you really think I would stay there?” Cas asks, staring at the side of Dean’s face. “In the dream?”

Dean shifts uncomfortably. “Why not? I mean, it sounded like you had it pretty good there, man.” He lifts his hand, drops it back down onto the table with a thunk. “And I know from experience how easy it is to just slide into it. To tell yourself it’s real.”

“I knew it was fake, Dean,” Cas says. “I knew it from the moment I woke up with you next to me. So I gave myself just one day, just to feel what it was like. But it never occurred to me to stay there. Even if-- even if we never wind up being anything...more, here. I’d choose this every time.”

Dean looks up at him, brow furrowed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Dean shifts in his seat, taps his fingers on the armrests as he steels himself. Nodding once to himself, he grabs his chair, stands halfway so he can scoot closer to Cas. His chair makes a horrible grinding sound as he drags it across the floor.

“Smooth,” Cas says.

“Shut up,” Dean says, and leans over and kisses him.

\--

They lie in bed, kissing lazily, until Dean starts to nod off.

“Sorry,” he says. “Long day.”

“I know. It’s all right.” He kisses Dean one last time before he shifts to his back, Dean following with him to throw an arm over his chest.

“You sure you’re okay?” Dean asks sleepily.

“Yeah.”

He waits for Dean to fall asleep, and even after his breathing has evened out, he lies awake and unmoving. He watches Dean, barely visible in the moonlight, for a long time before he finally works up the resolve to slide out from under Dean’s arm and get up.

Dean stirs as he moves, mumbles, “Cas?”

“Just going to the bathroom,” Cas says. “Go back to sleep.”

Dean nods and rolls over, and as soon as he’s fallen back asleep, Cas slips into the hallway, closing the bedroom door behind himself. He opens the linen closet, kneels down to pull out the duffle, unzip it.

He finds what he’s looking for quickly. It’s cold and familiar in his hand, this gun that was always Dean’s favorite.

Taking a deep breath, he tucks the barrel under his chin, and--

\--

Cas jolts awake in the middle of the night, breathing hard. From beside him, Dean asks blearily, “Cas? You okay?”

Cas reaches out, and Dean is there. He slings an arm around Cas and pulls him close.

“Yeah,” Cas says, burying his face against Dean’s chest. “Go back to sleep.”


End file.
